


If I were a carpenter ...

by Batik



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU (but what rpf isn't?), Hockey Player!Geno, M/M, but they are worth mentioning, carpenter!Sid, not all characters have speaking roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-11-02 13:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik
Summary: What the label says ...(These guys are not those guys, whom I don't know ... and this probably is no way to build a house, another thing I don't know.)





	If I were a carpenter ...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaylorJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorJ/gifts).

> In April 2016, [taylorj8771](https://taylorj8771.tumblr.com/) [posted on Tumblr](https://taylorj8771.tumblr.com/post/143144212418/so-i-was-thinking-about-it-a-lot-earlier-and-now-i) about how she “desperately want(ed) really great, hardworking, sweaty carpenter Sid doing work on Geno’s house.”
> 
> And, without her knowing (lest I fail), I started writing. I had hoped to have this ready to post by the time the 2016-17 pre-season rolled around. Clearly, that didn’t happen. As the 2017-18 pre-season approached, I tried again and made a bit of progress, but not enough.
> 
> I skipped even trying during the 2018-19 pre-season. But the 2019-20 pre-season (and the long summer) came along and I got busy … and, 3.5 years later, here we are. I hope it proves worth the wait, [TaylorJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorJ/pseuds/TaylorJ).
> 
> Also, much, much (so much) thanks to [VelvetPaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetPaw/pseuds/VelvetPaw). A lot of people have seen bits and pieces of this over the years, and they all helped me immensely. But Velvet is the one who managed to propel me forward and get me working on it again, to finish it. (And properly.)

“Hi. Sidney Crosby.” Sid stood and extended his hand in greeting across his desk. “Mr. Malkin?”

“Yes,” Geno said. “Pleased to meet.”

“You, too,” Sid said, motioning Geno into a chair across from him before returning to his own seat. “So you’re friends with Jen, right? She said you’re looking to build a home. Did she tell you much about the process?”

“Not a lot,” Geno said. “I have ideas about what I want. Jen say you can help with rest.”

“I can.” There were areas of his life where Sid might have some uncertainties, but his job wasn’t one of them. He knew what he was doing when it came to home construction and he wasn’t shy about making sure his clients got a home that was both what they wanted and what they needed. “First, what’s your time frame? When do you want to have your home ready to move into and how involved in the process do you want to be?”

“Hoping to be ready to move in before next season,” Geno said.

“So, six or seven months or so,” Sid said. “That’s definitely doable. It’s been a mild winter and we’re ahead on some jobs we expected to take a bit longer. Fitting your house into the mix shouldn’t be a problem. How available will you be as construction progresses? Builds are always easier if the homeowner is around to answer questions.”

“Things always busy during season, even more this time of year,” Geno said. “But house is important, too. Unless I’m practicing or playing, you call, I answer phone, anytime. Summer I’m in Russia. But hopefully not ’til June, and most questions answered by then, yes? We can always email or Skype if you need.”

“Great,” Sid said. “For my part, I always try to be available if you have questions. My goal is to build your dream home, and that involves a lot of communication. I ask that you trust me — and my employees and business partners — to be honest with you and do everything we can to create the home you want. But you also need to be honest with us. If you don’t like something, say so. If you do, tell us that, too.”

“I can do,” Geno said. 

“Good. Do you have any questions for me, about the business? Do you need to talk to some other builders before you decide or should we just get down to talking about your house?”

“Jen said you best builder in Pittsburgh,” Geno said. “I trust her, so I trust you.”

“Thank you — I’ll try not to prove either of you wrong,” Sid said with a grin. “If you already have a lot purchased, we can go out, walk around the site, talk to my architect and get some rough plans drawn up. If not, I know of several sites that are available. We can start with a tour of those, to see if you like the location of any of them.”

“Well,” Geno said, a bit of a sheepish grin of his own appearing. “I already have property in Sewickley. Big. For big house, lots of space. Plus big yard.”

“Great.” Sid swiveled his chair a bit and pulled up the computer file he’d started after Jen called to set up the appointment with the Penguins’ star center and quickly started typing in notes. “That makes it even easier to get a faster start.”

“Maybe not say right,” Geno said. “Don’t need new house. Need fix what already there to make new.”

“Oh,” Sid said. “A renovation. What are we talking about — an old house you need updated or a small house you need enlarged?”

“An ice rink I’m need make into house,” Geno said. “Like that TV show, ‘Extreme Homes’.”

“‘Extreme Homes’,” Sid repeated, his carefully honed professional demeanor slipping just a bit in his surprise. Jen hadn’t mentioned that little detail. “You’re turning an _ice rink_ into a house?”

“Gonna try,” Geno said with a shy grin Sid wasn’t expecting from the dominating hockey player Evgeni Malkin was known to be. “It’s big. Don’t need whole thing. No one need shower that holds 20 hockey players at one time. But hate to see building destroyed. Like idea of ice for skate at home.”

Sid blinked at Geno. Once, twice. Then his eyes widened.

“You bought the Pens’ old practice facility — the one they used before they built the one in Cranberry,” he said.

“Yes,” Geno agreed. “Organization give me good deal; they hate to see it go, but don’t need anymore. I’m decide I need bigger house, more room for family, friends. Why not get one with ice rink?”

“You don’t get enough skating at work?” Sid asked before he could stop himself.

“Never get enough skating,” Geno said dramatically. He looked scandalized to consider the possibility and Sid was pretty sure at least part of his reaction was purely for show, but he couldn’t fault the sentiment. Skating was one of Sid’s favorite not-construction-related things, even if he long ago had given up hockey to spend more time on construction sites.

“I’ve skated at that rink, when the Pens had public skates,” he said. “It’s a great space. But it’s pretty huge. Just how much of a house are you looking for?”

“Building around 100,000 square feet,” Geno said. “I’m think remove one rink and its locker room, cut some space around it, maybe get closer to 40,000 square feet, with 20,000 of that for rink, locker room — in case friends come to skate.”

“That’s still a lot of house, but not ridiculously so, considering the rink. And it’s an interesting idea. Let’s take a look and see what we can do,” Sid said. “The challenge of renovating a space like that is maintaining its original integrity while also making it fun and functional for the family living there. If you have time now, I could grab Flower — um, my architect, Marc-Andre Fleury — and we could drive out to look around.” 

“Sound good,” Geno said. “Today my off-day. Free all afternoon.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The drive to the rink was uneventful. They took Sid’s SUV — Sid knew the way and his Tahoe had space enough for Flower to join them. Geno had offered to drive, but there was no way the three of them would fit in Geno’s sports car. Sid wasn’t quite sure how Geno did.

The building was just as large as Sid recalled, though he also paid more attention to its surroundings this time. The property abutted park land — a wooded area with hiking trails rather than playground equipment — and Sid could see that a few more trees specifically on his side of the property line would largely afford Geno his privacy without the need to erect a tall fence.

“It’s in really good shape,” Sid said, pleased, as they looked around the lobby area. “There’s not even dust and dirt built up from disuse yet.”

“They move to Cranberry six months ago, but Pens still use a bit until recent,” Geno said. “I’m arrange with cleaning crew to keep take care until construction start.”

“Smart,” Flower spoke up. “It’s amazing how quickly buildings can deteriorate once they’re not in use every day.”

“So, do you have a preference for which rink you’d like to keep,” Sid asked as they approached the glass surrounding one. 

“Kind of depend on what work best,” Geno said. “But I’m think this one. Second floor more open to this side. Other side, not so much. Like idea of bedrooms overlook ice.”

“That might work,” Sid said, looking at Flower. “What do you think?”

“I need to get a look at the second level and take some measurements, but that sounds like a solid plan,” Flower said. “We could basically cut the building in half, tear down half and split the living space between the first and second floors alongside the ice in the remaining half. We’d probably keep the hallway between those spaces and the ice on the first floor — for access to the ice — but the second floor could have a direct view overlooking the ice.”

“Sound good,” Geno said. 

“Great,” Sid agreed. “Flower, do you want to take those measurements now or come back later?”

“Later, I think,” Flower replied. “I’ll grab Kuni and he can help me with measurements while we also talk about what the electrical is going to involve.”

“Chris Kunitz is our electrician,” Sid explained to Geno. “My business is a team effort and we’re all used to working together to make a project run as smoothly as possible. You’ll also probably be meeting Pascal Dupuis at some point. He’s my site manager, keeping everything running when I’m tied up. And Kris Letang is my designer-decorator. He’ll be able to help you figure out the little details like lighting fixtures and paint colors, what kind of knobs you want on your cabinets, that kind of thing.”

“Sound like my house will be in good hands,” Geno said.

“Thanks,” Sid said. “We try our best.”

“How many bedrooms are you wanting?” Flower asked. “How many baths?”

“Well, big master bedroom, bath,” Geno replied with a grin. “Long soak after games the best! Three, maybe four other bedrooms, for kids, guests. Space for Mama and Papa. Kitchen, dining room big enough for team gatherings but also with small area for family meals.”

“Well, this building certainly has enough space to accommodate anything you want,” Sid said, mentally shaking off the way it felt as if a cloud had passed over the sun when Geno mentioned family.

∞ ∞ ∞

By the time his meeting with Mr. Malkin — “Call me Geno” — had ended back at his office, Sid knew his new client pretty much wanted everything.

Geno didn’t know a lot about it, but he was interested in green construction when Sid brought it up and pointed out its benefits. Sid was right in assuming Geno wanted his privacy, but he also wanted a view, which Sid felt confident they could provide with the property being surrounded by parkland.

Geno wanted a large kitchen. A pool — outdoors, despite Pittsburgh winters. He admitted that he didn’t always enjoy working out, but he was hoping a home gym would make it easier on the days he wasn’t inspired but needed to work out anyway.

Sid was beginning to wonder if Geno was planning to house his entire team under his roof by the time they got done discussing how many rooms it would have. But when Geno explained his reasoning behind each detail, it quickly became clear it wasn’t another case of a wealthy athlete going over the top on building a home, just because he could.

The trophy room was less about Geno’s ego than it was about necessity, though Sid intended to discuss an idea he’d had about that with Flower. Geno also wanted a master suite, two in-law suites, two children’s bedrooms and at least one guest room. He hadn’t mentioned a wife, specifically, but he obviously had a large, close family. And he was building a house with kids’ rooms.

Sid let himself feel just a twinge of longing — he was far from immune to the idea of having children of his own and someone with whom to raise them, but his business had been his focus for years now and left little time for anything more than an occasional hookup — before he ruthlessly smothered the notion and turned back to his computer to start making some notes. His first impression of Geno — that he could be everything Sid had ever wanted in a partner — didn’t make a bit of difference if Geno was married, let alone straight. Besides, Sid didn’t date clients. Even if simply shaking hands with said client made Sid’s heart trip a little faster.

∞ ∞ ∞

Geno’s nearly unlimited budget certainly helped speed the process. There was no long wait to complete the mountains of paperwork or for the bank to approve his loan. One call to his accountant and the funds were available. Getting the renovation permits also hadn’t taken long, between Geno’s status as Pittsburgh’s golden boy and Sid’s reputation for quality builds.

Besides, city leaders were pretty sure they’d rather have Geno making a family home at the edge of their parkland than take their chances on the site simply deteriorating from lack of use or being sold to a less park-friendly business.

Having the building’s framework already in place also made it easier for Flower to come up with blueprints for the redesign. Geno hadn’t been lying when he said he’d be busy with hockey as All-Star Weekend and the bye-week vanished in the rearview mirror and the regular season heated up with talk of the playoffs race. But, true to his word, he still made time for Sid’s questions every time Sid called. After another walk-through of the rink space in late February, Geno gave his approval and construction was ready to begin.

March was spent tearing out the parts of the building they weren’t keeping, and Sid didn’t see much of Geno, who was busy ensuring that the Pens made the playoffs. It was a bit more of a nailbiter than anyone had expected, with a few unfortunate injuries to some key players, and Sid was determined not to bother Geno, if he could avoid it, until the team had clinched a spot.

That finally came in early April, with just a couple of games left in the regular season. The team then had a few days to rest between the end of the regular season and the start of the playoffs grind. Sid put in a quick call and Geno found himself back in the Crosby Construction Management offices, talking design elements with Sid and his decorator, Kris Letang.

It was a long meeting, with a lot of weighing of details — paint colors, round cabinet knobs versus oval, ceiling fixtures versus track lighting. There was even discussion about the style of the air vent covers.

“So many decisions,” Geno said, sounding both in awe and exhausted. “Who knew so much to think about doorbells, so many shades of blue?”

“It can be a lot,” Sid agreed. “But you’ve made a lot of important decisions today. It’s a lot of progress.”

“I’m glad Kris able to narrow down choices,” Geno said, nodding at Tanger. “Still a lot, but it help that you so good at understand style I want.”

“Merci,” Kris said. “It’s what I do, but I’m glad to help. I think your choices will definitely let your personality shine through your house.”

“There will be other decisions as things move along,” Sid said. But, for the major choices, we’re pretty much down to the flooring in the kitchen and baths and the fixtures there — the sinks, tubs, toilets.”

“I’m like these,” Geno said, pointing to an oversized custom copper tub that was one of Sid’s favorites. “Want something with plenty of room.”

“That’s a really great choice,” Sid said. “It’s a two-person soaking tub, tons of space — and the copper conducts heat well enough to help keep the water warm longer.”

“Good for relax after game, maybe even with company,” Geno said, a smile teasing across his face as he looked at Sid. “Just not sure how it look in room. Don’t need dark, gloomy bathroom.”

Sid fought down the color he felt rising in his cheeks at the mention of Geno having company for his bath. It wasn’t the time or place to indulge himself in that mental image.

“Kris can work on that for you, eh,” he said instead of something mortifyingly improper. “You don’t have to decide today and he can get back to you with some mock-ups of that tub — or some like it — in the master bathroom with various finishes for the walls and flooring. You can decide then if it works for you.”

“That be great,” Geno said, and Sid could see the relief on his face. “Not sure I can make another choice today.”

“I know it’s a lot,” Sid said. “But you’ve made some great picks. I think you’ll be pleased with the end result. Those tubs, for example, highest quality and workmanship. And gorgeous. They _are_ custom, made by a local artist, Dana Heinze. So we will need to have confirmation that you want it sooner than we would with something more standard. But I’ll let him know we’re interested and he’ll let me know when he needs a definite decision. Probably a month or so from now.”

“And I can get you some mock-ups next week,” Tanger said. “Should give you a couple of weeks to think about how you want the finished room to look before Dana needs an answer.”

“Thank you,” Geno said. “Playoffs crazy, but after so many decisions today, should be able to decide on bath in that much time. If nothing else, I’m base choice on how card game goes on one of the team’s flights.”

“Depends on how good you are at cards,” Tanger said, drawing a laugh out of Geno.

“I can send some flooring samples with you,” Sid said. “The few you’ve narrowed it down to so far. So you can think about that, too. We can wait even longer on a decision on those. Flooring is one of the last elements in and I really just need time to get them ordered and shipped a few weeks out, so … mid-June, early July.”

“I can do that,” Geno said, holding out a hand for Sid to shake. “Thank you for patience. And for meet on a Sunday.”

“It’s not a problem,” Sid said with a grin. “As you said during our first meeting, hockey’s important. Working around your schedule a bit is the least we can do to support the playoffs cause.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid checked his phone when he got the alert, surprised to see a text from Geno.

****

Hi, Sid. Just let you know I’m head back to Russia. Still can call or text if need me. Just Moscow 7 hours ahead of Pittsburgh. May not get back to you right away.

****

Hi. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll keep it in mind. … Sorry about the playoffs. You played really well. I hope that hit in the third of that last game wasn’t as nasty as it looked and you’re still in one piece.

****

Hit not feel great, big bruise on ribs. But I live, nothing broken.

****

Good.

Sid kept that reply short. He wasn’t sure what else he could say without giving away how much he had felt like punching the goon who hit Geno hard and late, or how much he yelled at the ref through his TV screen for not making it a game misconduct and giving the Pens a massive power play that could have made a difference between them moving on and bowing out.

****

Know still some things to decide about house. But not today, OK? Just want go home, forget for a while. Not want make house decisions in bad mood.

****

Probably a good plan. No bad things for your new home, just good. Take care of yourself.

****

Will try. Anna also take care of me. Said she not trust me not do something stupid after lose.

****

Right, well, it’s good you have someone to look after you. … I have to go. Have a good summer.

****

You, too, Sid.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Shit.” Sid looked at his watch and quickly straightened from where he had been hunched over a piece of sheetrock he’d been working to hang. He slid his hammer into its loop on his tool belt and reached for his phone.

“Problem?” Duper asked.

“Uh, no, not really,” Sid said, scrolling through his contacts. “I just lost track of time and need to call Geno before it gets too late.”

“_Geno_, huh?” In case Sid missed the teasing inflection in his site manager’s voice, Duper paired it with a raised eyebrow and a smile devious enough for Sid to be glad it usually was aimed at other people.

“It’s nothing,” Sid said. “He _asked_ me to call him Geno. You, too, for that matter.”

“I’m not the one falling all over myself to call him,” Duper said.

“I’m not falling all over myself,” Sid said — as he pivoted away from Duper and immediately bumped into a sawhorse that was much closer than he recalled. Shit.

“No. Just the equipment,” Duper said as his grin gave way to outright laughter.

Sid tried to level a glare at Duper, but his best friend had long since developed immunity. He would never overstep the professional boundaries of their working relationship, and they both knew it. But, as his friend, Duper wasn’t easily cowed. Pulling Sid out of his head when he got too focused on work wasn’t officially in Duper’s job description, but it was just as valuable as anything he could do in overseeing a CCM site.

“I just need to call him before it gets too late,” Sid tried again. “I can’t expect him to have a coherent discussion about his house if I wake him up.”

“We don’t all go to bed at 9 p.m., Sid.” Duper sighed. “Fine. I’m going to go check on Kuni, see if he’s come up with a solution for the wiring in the garage.”

As soon as Duper started to leave, Sid sent a quick text to Geno, asking if it was a good time to Skype. While he waited for a response, Sid removed his hard hat, walked over to the cooler, grabbed a Gatorade and leaned against a framing 2 x 4 — part of a future load-bearing wall between the living and dining areas — as he drank.

He had his head tipped back to get the last of his drink when his phone pinged and he jerked his head forward to see Geno’s face on his phone screen.

Sid made a bit of a gurgling sound and then sputter-coughed as the sudden movement forced the last drops of Gatorade to slide down his throat the wrong way. 

“Sid? You OK?”

Shit. So much for professionalism. Or dignity. Sid lowered his phone and managed to drag up a more solid, throat-clearing cough before raising his phone again. There was nothing to be done for his now-watering eyes and red face. And, yes, his concern about how he looked was purely business. It had absolutely nothing to do with the strong column of Geno’s neck displayed so nicely amid the open collar of a clearly expensive dress shirt. Even 5,000 miles and the limits of phone technology couldn’t detract from that view.

Client. Client. With a family. Shit.

“Sid?”

“Yeah,” Sid kind of croaked that first syllable, and he could feel his face growing even redder. At least he could pass that off as the result of nearly choking. “Yeah, um, hi, Geno. I’m OK. Drink went down the wrong way.”

For good measure, Sid pulled the empty Gatorade bottle up beside his face and waggled it at his phone for Geno to see before setting the empty on top of the cooler.

“Good,” Geno said, serious until he wasn’t, a small grin slowly working its way across his face. “Good you OK. Hate for builder to die before house done. Bad karma for house. And who knows what _improvements_ Flower and Duper make without you to stop them.”

“My team is always professional,” Sid protested, knowing Geno was teasing but feeling the need to defend his friends and his business reputation. “They would carry on without me.”

“I know, Sid,” Geno said. “Just tease. Make sure you OK. Did you need something?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Sid said, shaking his head a bit to clear the off-kilter feeling he’d had from the moment this call started. “It’s the bathtubs. We can wait a bit to decide on the one between the third and fourth bedrooms. You’re going with something standard there, right? But the one you’ve been looking at for the master suite needs to be ordered soon if you still want the custom design.”

“Yes. Not like small bath,” Geno said. “Bubble bath not relax when knees up by ears, you know?”

“Bubble bath?” Sid’s voice, if anyone asked, absolutely cracked because of his recent near-choking. It absolutely was not because of the mental image now filling Sid’s brain. An image of Geno in a tub. An image kept discreet only by the mounds of bubbles floating on the water.

“Yes. Bubbles fun. Even more fun with two. Need space. Normal bath too small.”

Geno was still smiling, but it sounded to Sid like he was serious. Maybe not — but, yeah, maybe — about the shared bubble baths. He was definitely serious about the size of his tub.

“OK, yeah. I get that,” Sid said.

“You like bubble bath?” Geno asked.

“I, uh, really haven’t tried one since I was a kid,” Sid said, clearing his throat.

“They’re best,” Geno said. “Really should try.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Sid said, trying and failing not to be flustered. “... So, uh, you’re OK with the changes to the floor plan to make the bigger tubs fit? Pushing out the wall a bit, cutting into the master suite sitting area?”

“Yes, is fine,” Geno said, his grin feeling to Sid as if he was well aware that Sid was carefully steering the conversation back to safer ground. 

“OK, I’ll get in touch with Dana and confirm the order,” Sid said. “While we’re talking about it, how about the other baths? You said you didn’t need anything custom there, but you want something more than a standard tub, too, right?”

“Da,” Geno said. “Kids grow up tall, like papa. Should not be squish in tub.”

And there it was. The reminder that Geno had a family. That he was building this house for a reason. 

“Your son has long legs, too, then?” Sid said before he could think better of it. He’d have been better off not imagining a houseful of long-legged, dark-haired boys that clearly took after Geno filling the spaces Sid was creating for them.

“If lucky,” Geno said. “Not know yet, but we see. Make sense to be prepare.”

“True,” Sid agreed. “Unless you want to redo the place all over again in a few years. So, a larger tub in all of the other bathrooms is going to involve a slight adjustment to the plans, but you have plenty of space. We don’t have to worry about losing something else to make room for it.”

“Good,” Geno said with a grin. “But, even if did, kids not miss foot of space they never had.”

“I’ll call Dana when we hang up then and give him the go-ahead on the master bath,” Sid said, Geno’s unwitting reminder about his family making Sid’s words a bit stiff. “Still want the copper tub and the separate shower with the bench, right?”

“Yes.”

Sid nodded abruptly to confirm he understood, apparently changing the camera angle on the call.

“Sid?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going gray? Is worry for my house turn your hair gray?”

Sid instinctively ran his phone-free hand through his hair, dislodging a bit of sheetrock dust.

“Or you just old, hair turn white with age — like Ovechkin?”

Geno was clearly teasing again, but Sid took the bait anyway.

“I’m only 28,” he said. “I’ll be 29 next month.”

Geno looked like he was about to continue chirping Sid about his age, but a woman’s voice cut in and Sid saw a neatly manicured hand appear on Geno’s shoulder. A flurry of what Sid assumed was Russian followed.

A shift in how Geno was holding his phone showed more of his surroundings and Sid took the break in their conversation to study it. The screen that had been focused on Geno’s head and shoulders now was showing a brick wall, a neon sign. Not overly garish but clearly a nightclub.

Based on what he could see of her, the woman attached to the hand on Geno’s shoulder could have been a model, petite, with long dark hair falling past her one visible shoulder in easy waves.

All of which would explain Geno’s dress shirt — not formal attire complete with suit jacket and tie but definitely suitable for an evening out at a high-end club.

Sid felt a moment of self-consciousness for his dusty work pants and plain T-shirt before mentally shaking it off. He was working, after all.

“Sid.” Geno’s face reappeared on the screen as his voice broke through Sid’s distraction. “I have to go. Anna say Sasha threaten to sing. Have to stop him before he empty club, bankrupt owner. I call you back later if you need anything else. Or email me.”

“Sure,” Sid said. “Sorry I interrupted your evening.” 

“Is fine, Sid,” Geno said. “Is house. I told you at start, call anytime. Now? Even without house, you call, I answer. Like talk to you.”

“OK, yeah. OK,” Sid said. “Go take care of, um … Sasha?”

“Yes. Bye, Sid.”

And with a small wave and a grin, Geno disappeared from Sid’s phone. 

Sid made sure he was disconnected from the call before pocketing his phone and picking up his hard hat, running a hand through his hair and brushing that errant curl off of his forehead.

_Kid_. So, at least one. With bedrooms in the works for more. And _Anna_. With her casually possessive hand on Geno’s shoulder. Nothing like having Geno’s family so clearly emphasized for him.

Shit.

Sid jammed his hard hat on his head and went back to work, glad Duper still was apparently distracted with Kuni. The last thing he needed was Duper’s too-knowing eyes on him as he wrestled with quashing a crush on his client by hanging sheetrock a bit more viciously than the task really required.

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid sent off a precursor text, the one asking Geno if he had a few minutes to Skype. They didn’t have a daily Skype appointment, though Sid had taken to calling before he left for work in the morning, if he needed to talk to Geno. His timing was all about trying to make the calls convenient to Geno’s schedule. It had nothing to do with the general lack of dust in his hair at 7 a.m. Or his still-clean T-shirts. Really. It was all about what time it was in Moscow.

Still, there was no guarantee that Geno would be free at 2 p.m. Moscow time, no matter how good he’d been about making himself available when Sid had questions about the house.

A few minutes later, Sid’s Skype pinged and Geno’s face appeared on his screen. Despite it being mid-afternoon in Moscow, it was obvious that Geno had just woken up, was still in bed even, based on the glimpse of pillow Sid spotted over Geno’s bare shoulder. Sid licked his lips before he could stop himself, caught off guard by the charm of his sleep-tousled hair, a sudden mental image of Geno — bare all over — and the equally sudden want that went straight to Sid’s dick and settled in.

“Hi, Sid.”

“Uh, hi, Geno,” Sid tried not to stammer but wasn’t sure he completely succeeded considering he was simultaneously trying to will away the beginning of an erection and realizing that Geno might not be alone in that bed. It was mid-afternoon in Moscow, after all. Why else would he still be in bed?

“What you need, Sid?” Geno rumbled in a sleep-roughened voice.

And _that_ did nothing to help. 

Sid cleared his throat and pressed a hand against his dick, grateful that Geno couldn’t see and that he had chosen to make the call from home instead of the work site, meaning Duper and Kuni weren’t around to chirp him for his lack of control.

“Um, uh, sorry if I interrupted anything,” Sid said, feeling his face heat. “I, uh, just wanted to go over a few things with you. But, um, you can call me back later, whenever’s good for you.”

“You fine, Sid. Not interrupt anything but sleep,” Geno said, scrubbing the heel of his hand across one eye.

“Oh, uh, good.” _Idiot_, Sid silently berated himself. _Could you sound any more idiotic right now?_ “I, um, I was going to ask you about flooring, if you’re awake enough. See if you’ve made any decisions since we went through the options at the office before you left town.”

“Better idea, Sid,” Geno said. “Let’s talk over dinner.”

“OK, sure. I can call back in a few hours. What time do you eat dinner?”

“No call. Meet at Casbah at 6.”

“Casbah? In Pittsburgh?”

“Unless you rather fly to Morocco.”

“No. No. Casbah’s fine,” Sid said, thrown for a loop yet again in the short conversation. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”

“Fly in last night. Quick trip for business. Hockey. But check on house, too. Going back to sleep now, Sid. We talk later.”

“For sure,” Sid said. “I’ll see you at 6 at Casbah.”

Sid quickly hit the disconnect button with a not-quite-steady finger before he could say anything ridiculous and took a deep breath. The idea of seeing Geno in person for the first time in a month was both exhilarating and terrifying. Sid was serious about not dating his clients, but none had ever made him question that policy the way Geno had. And if Sid could feel that attraction when Geno was on another continent, how was he going to withstand sitting across a dinner table from him? 

“You’re building a house for his _family_,” Sid reminded himself. “He’s not just off-limits because he’s a client. He’s just off-limits.”

With that thought and another firm press of his hand to his crotch, Sid willed away the last of his erection, shut his laptop and gathered it and his satchel before heading out the door to the construction site.

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid let the saw power down as the blade finished slicing through the sheet of plywood, the larger piece maintaining its balance across the sawhorses as Sid caught the smaller piece with his free hand. Flower had been standing a safe few steps away but moved closer to take the cut piece from Sid and put it on top of the other piece.

"Thanks," Sid said. He flipped the saw's safety into place once the blade stopped spinning and carefully sat the saw on the ground at the base of the sawhorse before straightening and tugging his safety goggles down around his neck. “What’d you bring me for lunch?”

"Bridgeside. But we have company," Flower replied, glancing over Sid's shoulder at the man walking across what hadn’t yet transformed from former public parking lot to private drive. "And he's looking rather _epris_."

“_Epris_?” Sid repeated, questioning, as he turned to see Geno heading toward them, long legs seemingly even longer thanks to the jeans encasing them.

“Fond,” Flower replied. “You need to work on your French. And maybe your Russian.”

Sid pulled his eyes away from Geno and tried to level his best unimpressed look at Flower.

"Well, he does own the place; I hope he’s fond of it," he said, doing his best to be casual about Geno’s unexpected appearance. Thank goodness he’d at least had warning that morning that Geno was in town or there’d be no use even trying to fool Flower.

"He wasn't looking at the house," Flower said with a grin and a not-quite-subtle waggle of his eyebrows.

Sid could feel his face heating at the implication in Flower's words, but he knew better than to acknowledge it.

"You just got here and you've obviously already been out in the heat too long," he responded instead, tugging off his work gloves. "Go tell everyone to take lunch. You go ahead, too. I’ll grab mine later."

"Aye, aye, _capitaine_."

Flower offered another grin and bit of a salute in Sid's general direction before turning away to find the rest of the crew and warn them of the visitor on site if they hadn't already noticed.

Sid waved him off — professionalism and their client's presence keeping him from returning Flower's salute with a somewhat saltier one — and took off his hard hat as he turned to greet Geno.

"Hi, Geno! I wasn't expecting to see you before tonight," Sid said, reaching out to shake the hand Geno extended in a greeting of his own.

"Had some free time," Geno said. "Thought I come by, see house, enjoy view."

Geno's words reminded Sid of Flower's comment and Sid was suddenly painfully aware that he and Geno were still holding hands. He wasn't sure what else he could call it considering neither of them was actually actively _moving_ their hands to qualify it as _shaking_.

"Um," Sid stumbled for something to say as he quickly withdrew his right hand from Geno's grip and thrust forward the hard hat in his left hand. "Site visitors have to wear a hard hat. For safety. If you put it on, I'll show you around. Though, I warn you, people sometimes have a hard time visualizing much at this stage in the construction."

"I see plenty," Geno said, pulling off the Steelers baseball cap he had been wearing and replacing it with the bright yellow plastic helmet. "I'm like view on walk up. Like angles and curves and lines."

“The angles of the house are a bit different with the second rink ripped out, eh?” Sid asked.

“Those angles nice, too.”

Sid sometimes missed social cues that — according to Flower and Tanger, at least — were obvious to others, but he was pretty sure Geno was flirting with him. He also was pretty sure he liked it and absolutely certain it needed to stop.

“Did you change your mind about discussing the flooring tonight?” he asked. “We could go over it now, if you want.”

“No,” Geno replied. “Already plan on dinner; have to eat, would like good company. Just stop now to see how things going here.”

“Oh, OK,” Sid said. “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.”

∞ ∞ ∞

The conversation was easy as Sid led Geno through the expansive space that was to be his home. The walls were in place, the individual areas defined. It still could be hard to fill in the gaps left by the lack of paint and fixtures and furniture, but Geno seemed to have a good eye for blending what he was seeing with the architectural renderings and design drawings Flower and Tanger had created for him.

“Your kitchen is going to make Pittsburgh’s top chefs jealous,” Sid said, pointing out where the fridge, stove and other elements would be as they stood in the middle of the frankly massive kitchen. “The stoves you picked out are amazing. Do you cook?”

“I know how to feed myself,” Geno said. “But nothing fancy. Favorite meal is warm up what Mama leave in freezer.”

“Well, you picked a great freezer, too, and those stoves should go well beyond warming up frozen dinners,” Sid said with a small laugh.

“Anna pick out,” Geno said. “She not cook much, either, but said Mama deserve best when she come visit.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Sid said, willing the stiffness out of his voice and a smile into it. “It sounds as if Anna and your mom really get along.”

“They do,” Geno agreed. “I’m lucky. Love them both. Would suck if they not get along.”

And if that didn’t pull Sid up short.

“It would,” he agreed. “Come on, I’ll show you the home theater before we head up to the second floor.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid left the construction site soon after Geno, more than a bit relieved that Flower had headed back to the office and Kuni was distracted by a call from Maureen. Duper hadn’t said anything, just gave Sid a considering look before turning his attention back to work.

That was good. Sid didn’t need any chirping about his dinner plans with Geno. Or the fact that he was leaving early to get ready.

It was business. Geno was a client. Sid owed it to the business to look presentable. Casbah wasn’t the most expensive restaurant in town, but it also wasn’t the cheapest, and he wasn’t about to show up sporting the day’s dust and dirt. Granted, it would have been easier if Sid had been in the office that day — he could have simply traded his polo for a button-down he kept on hand for just such instances and walked out the door. But he’d already planned to be on-site when Geno had invited him to dinner.

Instead of changing his work plans, Sid had gone back to his apartment to shower and now was wearing black dress pants and a black dress shirt, a single button unfastened at the collar. He was glad he hadn’t settled for khakis and a golf shirt when Geno showed up in charcoal gray dress pants and another white dress shirt, his with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and just enough buttons undone to frame the gold chain around his neck without descending into lounge-lizard territory.

They had taken a few minutes to get settled, Sid ordering a glass of wine after Geno ordered himself a glass of sangria. They studied the menu and chatted about Geno’s flight and the resulting jet lag while they waited for their food to arrive — steak for Sid, duck with gnocchi for Geno.

There was small talk about the weather — clear skies perfect for building — while they waited on their orders, and a few minutes of comfortable silence while they took the edge off their hunger. Just as Sid was considering bringing up the flooring that was, ostensibly, their reason for being there, Geno spoke.

“Your name on construction company, yes?” Geno asked, spearing a piece of gnocchi and sliding it through the fig jus that had come with his duck. “You owner?”

“Yes,” Sid said.

“You say you 28. Young for own business. Big company, yes?”

Sid felt himself bristling at the question. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been told by enough people over the years that he was destined to fail, simply because of his age. He offered up a mental thank-you to the bite of rapini in his mouth as he resisted going on the offensive. He may have chewed it a bit longer than absolutely necessary for healthy digestion, but it gave him time to think — and to realize: Geno hired him. He wouldn’t have hired Sid to build his dream house if he thought he was incapable. Maybe it was just conversation.

“It’s grown,” he finally said, putting down his fork and trying to ignore how Geno was watching as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “It belonged to my dad. I grew up around it. One time when I was little, Mom had somewhere to be and no babysitter, so she left me with Dad at a job site. At the time, it was just him and two other guys doing smaller home repair jobs and my being there wasn’t really a safety issue. By the time Mom came to pick me up a few hours later, I was hooked.”

Geno grinned.

“I have picture in head of cute baby in hard hat, crawling around construction site,” he said. “Get splinters in knees.”

“Well, I was old enough to be walking by then, but you’re not far off,” Sid replied with a grin of his own. “As I grew up, so did the business. I started spending summers on construction crews, first just sweeping up at the end of the day and learning how to use a hammer, a hand saw. Then I started building smaller things, around our house. As soon as Dad could legally hire me to work for him, I had a part-time job.”

“I bet little you want to know all details,” Geno said, his smile widening. “Drive crew crazy. Papa have to pay extra.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Sid sputtered, rising to the bait before Geno laughed and he realized he had fallen for it. “OK, maybe it was, a bit. … But if he ever had to pay anyone extra because I was a pest, he never told me — and he never told me to stop. He always encouraged me to learn as much as I could.”

“How you end up with business?”

“Dad had some health issues. He was in the middle of a pretty big job. I was fresh out of high school. When he couldn’t work, I stepped up. His crew was great, and Dad was still able to talk me through problems from home or the hospital. I put off college to see the project through.”

“Ever go back to school?”

“I’ve taken some classes here and there, just things that interest me, really. But it was mid-semester by the time the project wrapped up. Dad was recovering but still not 100 percent. I just kept working. Meanwhile, Mom was pushing him to retire. I think he held out as long as he did just to be sure I could handle it. But he gave me controlling interest in the company when I was 20 and we made it officially mine not long after.”

“How your dad now?”

“He’s doing pretty well,” Sid said. “He likes to keep up with the company, still, but he’s retired and mostly happy to let me run it.”

“He see you do good, see no reason to butt in,” Geno said.

Sid grinned again, dipping his head and poking at the last bits of steak on his plate as he realized he was blushing. Geno hadn’t even technically complimented him, just noted that his business was successful, and yet ...

After a moment during which both men were quiet as they finished their meal, it was Geno who broke the comfortable silence.

“Dessert?”

“I shouldn’t,” Sid said, taking a sip of his wine.

“But you want, yes?” Geno asked. “I see you eye brownie when they bring to other table.” 

“I _always_ want dessert,” Sid said. 

“Then have dessert,” Geno encouraged. “I get peach cobbler. What you have?”

“The cobbler sounds good,” Sid said. “But I’m leaning toward the bread pudding. Or the brownie.”

“Get both. Get all three.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sid said, laughing. “You may not fully grasp my love of dessert! If I got everything I wanted, I’d have to work out for a week just to burn the calories. I’d have no time to build your house!”

“You look good, Sid,” Geno said, a thread of _something_ running through it that made Sid’s insides heat. “No need worry about calories. I’m sure you burn lots building houses.”

“Speaking of houses.” Sid grasped at the reminder of why they were here. “I have samples of the flooring in my truck.”

“Oh, right,” Geno said. “We could go, look at samples, have dessert after to celebrate. Maybe come back for brownie, maybe go somewhere else.”

“Sure,” Sid said. “Just let me take care of the check.”

“I’m invite you, Sid,” Geno said. “I get check.”

“Business, Geno.”

“Pleasure mine, Sid.”

Sid was sure a half-dozen emotions played across his face before he gave in.

“Thank you, then,” he said. “But I’m taking care of dessert.”

“Fine,” Geno agreed. “You get dessert.”

After Geno had paid for dinner and they stood to leave, Sid ended up ahead of Geno by virtue of Geno stopping to tuck his card back in his wallet and his wallet in his pocket. Casbah’s business had picked up while they were eating and they were negotiating the crowd single-file as they headed for the door when Sid felt Geno’s hand at his lower back.

He told himself Geno was just trying to keep them together in the crowd but he felt that large hand on his back, guiding him toward the exit, and he admitted to himself that he _liked_ it. He hadn’t shuddered at the touch — or the realization — but it was a near thing. He was both grateful and disappointed when the crowd thinned as they reached the exit and Geno removed his hand.

“My truck’s right over here,” Sid said, mentally shaking himself and glancing over his shoulder at Geno before striding toward a back corner of the lot where his Tahoe was still relatively secluded. “Looking over flooring samples is much easier when we’re out of the general flow of traffic.”

∞ ∞ ∞

“Such hard work,” Geno sighed as Sid set the chosen flooring sample to one side and stacked the other samples neatly in the opposite corner of his truck’s back end. “Need ice cream.”

“Hard work?” Sid may have snorted a bit before reminding himself Geno was a client and trying for a more professional demeanor. Only to ruin the effect when he started talking again, humor still lacing his words. “We looked at a half-dozen flooring samples that met your criteria from our discussions back in April, and you chose one. On a scale of one to hockey, how is that even remotely hard work?”

“So hard, Sid,” Geno said with what Sid suspected was an exaggerated pout, though the puppy dog eyes looked genuine and potentially lethal to Sid’s composure. “Make sure floor safe for Jeffrey, so he not slip, fall. Not easy. I blame his grandmama. She baby him too much. But he fall, he sad for so long. Demand all the attention. Good floor important.”

“Yeah, um, it is,” Sid agreed, mentally chastising himself over his susceptibility to Geno when Geno keeps making it clear that he has a family. A son, no less. “Safety's important. But what you picked will look great in your kitchen and isn't slippery. And, it can be heated in the winter and will be easier on your knees than the stained concrete you were considering.”

“See?” Geno countered, not at all cowed by Sid’s calling him on his pout. “Hard work picking perfect floor. Need ice cream. Millie's right across the street. Join me?”

“I shouldn't,” Sid demurred. 

“Just like after dinner,” Geno said, jerking his head toward Casbah. You ‘shouldn’t’. But you still want, yes?”

That was the problem, Sid thought. He wanted. Too much.

“Yeah,” Sid said, hoping his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “I’m always up for ice cream. And I did promise to pay for dessert.”

“Then we go,” Geno said, a hopeful grin splitting his face.

Sid closed the back of the Tahoe and pressed his key fob until the vehicle’s alarm chirped at him.

“Lead the way.”

“After you.”

Despite the figures of speech, they ended up walking side by side across the parking lot and caught a break in traffic that allowed them to jog across the street.

“It not jaywalk if you run, right?” Geno joked as they got to the other side.

“I’m not sure the police would see it that way,” Sid laughed as he pulled up his stride and slowed back to a walking pace, albeit a pace that let him keep up with Geno’s long, easy gait.

They skirted the painted picnic tables on the sidewalk in front of Millie’s, climbed the steps and Geno held the door for Sid. In return, Sid refused to think about just how much he enjoyed that little gesture, instead telling himself it was one Geno probably would have made for anyone. Which his inner monologue couldn’t deny. Geno seemed nice that way.

It was a warm night and Millie’s was clearly popular. Aside from a few double takes, though, no one bothered Geno. The line was moving just quickly enough that it didn’t discourage them from their quest for ice cream but gave them time to think through their choices.

“So, what do you want?” Sid asked after he’d made up his mind.

“Can’t decide,” Geno said. “Was plan on vanilla shake. But coconut lime sorbet sounds like beach. And beach is always good in summer.”

“You could always get both,” Sid said with a grin. “Sorbet in a waffle cone, washed down with a vanilla shake.”

“Don’t tempt, Sid,” Geno said.

“Isn’t summer when hockey players are supposed to bulk up ahead of the season?” Sid persisted in his teasing. “Consider it just another sacrifice you have to make for hockey.”

“When you put that way,” Geno said with a straight face that lasted about 2 seconds before he grinned.

Sid couldn’t help but grin back. So they grinned at each other for several seconds, until it was their turn to order and both were forced to turn their attention to the woman behind the counter.

A few minutes later, they had ice cream in hand — two scoops of The Best Chocolate in a cup for Sid and a shake made with Chad’s Vanilla for Geno — and had found their way back to a picnic table out front right as a man and woman were standing up to go. They settled in, Geno smoothly tucking his long legs underneath with what Sid considered both unfair and unduly hot grace.

After a few moments of simply enjoying his ice cream, the evening air and, if he was being honest with himself, how comfortable he felt with Geno, Sid figured he should say something.

“How’s the shake?” he asked. “Are you wishing you’d ordered the sorbet?”

“No,” Geno said, dramatically clutching the cup to his chest as if he feared Sid would try to take it away. “Is good. Best vanilla. Shakes go too fast when good, though. I drink too fast, then gone.”

“No brain freeze to slow you down?” Sid asked.

“No. Drink fast enough, not give time for freeze,” Geno said, grinning as he moved in for another pull on his straw.

Sid took a bite of his ice cream and swallowed it down, deliberately not watching Geno wrap his lips around the plastic cylinder and suck.

“So, uh, I feel like I gave you my entire life story over dinner,” Sid finally said. “What about you? How’d you end up in Pittsburgh?”

“Pretty much way media say,” Geno said. “Was in Finland for camp. Team turn one way, go to rink for practice. I turn other way, get on plane for here. Big fight. Penguins win.”

“Penguins win — as they always should,” Sid said.

“We try,” Geno replied with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“Your life sounds like something out of a novel, like a Cold War spy thriller. Pretty exciting,” Sid said, scooping up some of the melted ice cream at the bottom edge of his cup and spooning it into his mouth. He made himself ignore the way Geno’s eyes tracked the movement as Sid licked a stray drop from his lower lip.

“Spy thrillers only excite if not part of them,” Geno said, his words belying his casual tone. “In middle, too busy being terrified for excite.”

“That makes sense,” Sid said. “But it obviously worked out. You’re here, but you’re able to be there. It’s nice that you didn’t have to give up Russia to get hockey.”

“Have best of both. Very lucky,” Geno said solemnly. “Except no more milkshake.”

“Yeah,” Sid said, wiping his mouth on a napkin before wadding it up and tossing it in his empty cup. “I’m finished, too. This has been nice, but I suppose we should go, so someone else can have the table.”

“OK,” Geno agreed, untangling himself from the picnic table and standing with just as little trouble as he’d had when sitting. “Trash?”

“Thanks,” Sid said, putting his cup in Geno’s outstretched hand before standing as Geno walked the few steps to the garbage can.

They didn’t speak as they concentrated on crossing the street again, the silence between them comfortable in a way it rarely was for Sid. But when it became clear that Geno was walking Sid to his truck, Sid spoke again.

“How long are you going to be in town?” he asked. “You sounded like it was just a visit, rather than a lengthy stay. If I need to call you, I’ll try to time it so I don’t wake you.”

“Told you before, Sid. Call anytime. I’m answer,” Geno said, bumping his shoulder into Sid’s.

“OK,” Sid said as they got to his truck. “I appreciate that. But there’s no point in me calling you when I think you’re in town, only to wake you at 2 a.m. because of the time difference in Moscow. Not if I can call you at 2 p.m. and not wake you.”

“I’m here until Friday,” Geno said. “Long flight, back in Russia — maybe even past jet lag — by Monday.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sid said, holding out his hand to Geno. “Thank you for dinner. It was nice. And I think you’ll be happy with you flooring choices.”

“Thank you for dessert,” Geno said, taking Sid’s hand.

Sid’s mind was boggling yet again at how thoroughly his not-small hand was engulfed by Geno’s and he didn’t resist when Geno leaned in. Geno’s face was inches from Sid’s before Sid realized the proximity, and he was helpless to do anything but blink at Geno from close range before Geno was pressing a chaste kiss to Sid’s cheek.

The corner of his mouth, really. And then the other side. 

_Ohhh_, it was a European thing.

Sid had just about quelled the panic rising up in his chest and was tamping down thoughts of how much he’d enjoyed what, really, was a platonic kiss — no need to fret — when Geno’s lips found the middle ground between the two previous kisses and lingered.

And wasn’t that … wow.

Sid melted into the kiss at the first sensation, the hand not already captured by Geno’s rising without conscious thought to clutch at Geno’s waist. Geno leaned in closer, propelling Sid back against his truck door.

It was when Sid felt Geno move to deepen the kiss, his tongue requesting permission that Sid’s mouth was all too willing to grant, that Sid came to his senses. He couldn’t go far to pull away, not with his truck at his back, but Geno apparently felt him stiffen and pulled back himself.

“Sorry, Sid,” Geno apologized. “Shouldn’t have done without ask. Sorry.”

“No, Geno, it’s OK,” Sid said, grateful for the solid weight of his truck behind him. It wasn’t OK, not by a long shot, but Sid would think about that later, when he wasn’t trying to prevent things from becoming incredibly awkward with his client.

“Go all tense means all OK in America?” Geno asked.

“No, it means I’m building a house for you — for your family,” Sid said. “I don’t date clients — or sleep with them — and I don’t date married men.”

“Who’s married?” Geno said, eyebrows furrowing as he took another step back.

“Uh, you,” Sid said. “Remember. I’m building a house for your _family_ — Anna and pouty Jeffrey and the other son, the one who won’t notice his bedroom being smaller because of your larger bathtub.”

Sid willed himself to stand up straight, keep his hands at his sides — not in his pockets — and to look at Geno — Geno, whose jaw had dropped and who looked genuinely baffled for a full 3 seconds after Sid finished talking before … 

What the hell? Sid thought as Geno burst into laughter. Seriously, Sid was about to question Geno’s sanity, because Sid had just called him out for cheating on his wife, the mother of his children, and Geno thought that was funny?

“What the hell, Geno?” Sid demanded. “It’s not funny.”

“Is funny, Sid,” Geno said, drawing in a deep breath. “So much funny.”

“Cheating is not funny, especially not when there are children involved.” Sid was starting to get annoyed and it apparently came across in his tone of voice, because Geno clearly was trying not to laugh.

“Sorry again, Sid, for laugh,” Geno said. “Not laugh at you. Laugh at misunderstand.”

“What did you misunderstand?” 

“Not me,” Geno said, finally getting himself under control and working on calming his breathing. “You misunderstand everything.”

Now Sid was confused and, yes, still annoyed.

“What did I misunderstand, then?” he asked, not really trying to hide either emotion.

“All of it,” Geno said. “Sid, I’m not married. Anna’s friend, not my wife. Kid with small bedroom not even exist. Just talk about want someday.”

“Oh,” Sid said, for lack of a better response to months of obviously misunderstanding some really big things about the house he was building and the client for whom he was building it. “Oh, wait. What about Jeffrey? You were just talking about how you don’t want him slipping on the kitchen floors and your mother spoils him. And he has a name. Don’t tell me he’s hypothetical, too.”

“No,” Geno said, a not-mean grin splitting his face. “He’s a Dogue de Bordeaux.”

“He’s a …”

“Dogue de Bordeaux,” Geno repeated. “Dog. Big, spoiled-baby dog, but dog. He stay with Mama now and she spoil. When house done, he maybe come live with me.”

“Oh, my god,” Sid said, scrubbing his hands over his face as he felt it heat with embarrassment. “I am so sorry. I misunderstood everything. ... Wait. I am supposed to be building a house for you, right? You didn’t ask for a golf course, did you?”

Geno’s earlier laughter returned, but this time, Sid joined in and it took a moment before either of them was composed enough to speak.

“Hi,” Geno said, holding out his hand. “Evgeni Malkin, single, childless hockey player. You can call me Geno. Pleased to meet.”

Sid tilted his head to one side and looked at Geno for a moment before taking Geno’s hand in his own.

“Nice to meet you, single, childless Geno,” he said. “I’m Sidney, single, childless builder.”

“Maybe push my luck, but can I kiss you now?” Geno asked, giving Sid’s hand a bit of a squeeze instead of a shake.

A stuttered “Uh” was Sid’s intelligent response. 

“Never mind,” Geno said, letting go of Sid’s hand and stepping back once again. “Don’t want make you uncomfortable.”

Geno was a grown man and clearly polite, Sid thought. He understood personal boundaries and respecting other people’s choices, and certainly wasn’t pouting because he wasn’t getting his way. Sid suspected Geno just couldn’t help the slight kicked-puppy expression on his face at Sid’s hesitance.

And Sid really had no idea what a Dogue de Bordeaux looked like. But he wasn’t going to leave Geno looking anything like Jeffrey — or any other sad puppy — if he could help it.

“It’s not you,” he started before Geno cut in.

“Pretty sure that first phrase they teach in Dating Reject in Second Language 101,” Geno said wryly. “‘It not you, it me’.”

“But it’s not you,” Sid repeated. “Seriously. I enjoyed the kiss. I did, OK? Trust me. And this whole evening has been great. I kept forgetting it was a business dinner and not, well, if not a date at least dinner with a friend.”

“Then what the problem?” Geno asked. “I can call Anna, confirm we not married.”

“No,” Sid said. “I believe you.”

“Then why you hesitate?” Geno asked.

“I meant it when I said I don’t date clients,” Sid said. “It’s a rule that’s served me well. If we were to date for a bit and then decide it wasn’t going to work, we’d still have a house to build together. Even if we suddenly hated each other. I can’t take that chance. Not with my business.”

“I understand,” Geno said, sucking a corner of his lower lip into his mouth and looking thoughtful for a moment. “When will house be done?”

“We’re still on target for your preseason deadline,” Sid said. “So about a month out.”

“Can you make sooner?” Geno asked, the overly hopeful expression on his face making Sid giggle. “Sudden schedule change. Preseason camp start early. Need house next week. Very important for hockey.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid met Geno at Geno’s front door, pushing it open to welcome Geno to his new — and newly completed — home. It wasn’t too far ahead of schedule, but it was Aug. 30, two weeks before the start of Penguins training camp and the last day before the Labor Day weekend signaled a symbolic end to summer.

Sid’s team had largely finished construction in mid-August and worked with the movers to get everything in, unpacked and arranged ahead of Geno’s return from Moscow.

After a few minutes of small talk in the open area that was the foyer and living room, appreciating the view from the space’s still-expansive plate-glass windows and noting how the way the furniture was arranged managed to create a more intimate space in one corner while keeping the overall space large enough to accommodate Geno’s entire team, Sid had moved them through the various rooms. He had pointed out the features they had discussed and how they had been implemented and noted small details that hadn’t required Geno’s input in the building process but deserved mention simply as a note of Sid’s attention to detail.

They spent several minutes looking over Geno’s trophy “room” — really the hallway that separated the rink from the living space. Sid had taken the idea from every high school gym he’d ever seen with a trophy case in its lobby but, working with Flower and Kris, had made it less institutional and more upscale to appropriately showcase the impressive array of trophies earned by one of the NHL’s top players.

They walked through the kitchen, Sid pointing out the stoves — “Your mom is going to love them!” — and the details of the cabinets, from the one with the slide-out slot that hid the garbage can and recycling bin to the lazy Susans that made it easier to find particular spices or dishes. The large dining area and the smaller breakfast nook.

They glanced at the ice — “Skate with me?” “I’d like that, but let’s finish the tour first.” — before moving on to the upstairs, the two in-laws suites and the four kids’ rooms/guest rooms.

“And this,” Sid said, swinging open the door, “is this master suite. Bed, obviously. Walk-in closet, sitting area, bathroom through there, and a wall of glass overlooking the ice, tinted so you can watch what’s happening down there without anyone down there being able to see what you’re doing up here.”

“Is all amazing, Sid,” Geno said. “Whole house. Already feel warm, inviting, like home. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sid said. “Just doing my job.”

“Too modest,” Geno said. “I’ve seen teammates’ houses. They may be roof over head, but they just like dozen other houses in neighborhood. Nothing special. This? This most special. Think that because of you.”

“You had a lot to do with it, too,” Sid pointed out, even as Geno’s praise made him smile. “You started with a really unique idea and then put a lot of thought into all of the details. So many of your choices were exactly what I would have chosen.”

“Best builder make it easy,” Geno said.

Sid took a deep breath to steady the giddy joy building up in him. He knew, on a fundamental level, that he was good at what he did. But he never knew until this, the final walk-through, if his client would agree, if they would be satisfied with what his months of hard work had created or if he’d somehow disappoint them. Disappointment didn’t happen often, but it did happen.

“OK, so … let’s go back down and I’ll show you around the grounds,” Sid said, both wanting to get to the next part, to get done with the walk-through, and wanting to get out of the master suite, where the urge to try out the couch or the bed was proving very tempting.

If Geno kept looking at him like that, absolutely effervescent, Sid wasn’t going to make it through the tour without getting hard. They had talked, Skyped, since their dinner, but Geno had returned to Moscow a few days later and they hadn’t seen each other in person until Geno had driven straight from the airport to the walk-through. Most of their conversation had centered on the construction work.

But seeing Geno here, now, in person? It was taking all of Sid’s concentration to focus on the house and not how good he was looking after a summer of training. (Yes, Sid had seen the videos on Geno’s Instagram. He was never quite sure if he should thank Anna for posting them or curse her as a tease.) Having all of that — long legs, broad shoulders, gorgeous ass — within proximity of a very large, very sturdy bed? Not helping.

So, the yard it was.

A trip down the back stairs and out a door led them to the backyard and the pool, which was designed in such a way that it had a straight lane down the center for swimming training laps but also had curves to blend in with the landscaping. One end sloped to provide walk-in access and sand gave it a beachy feel. A couple of potted palm trees that could be moved indoors during the winter sat together along one edge and a few lounge chairs and colorful beach umbrellas sat nearby.

“Is great, Sid!” Geno said. “Feel like Miami. Well, as close to Miami as Pittsburgh going to get.”

“You did say you wanted a bit of the beach here,” Sid said. “I think Beau did a great job with the pool.”

“Is that pool house?” Geno asked, pointing at the small building situated near the pool, clearly new but designed to fit in perfectly with the main house.

“Well, we try to add something special, something extra, to each house we build, to let you know we appreciate that you trusted us with such an important part of your life,” Sid said. “It's usually not quite this, but I hope you like it.”

“What is it? Is pool house? Fancy storage shed?” Geno asked.

“Well, um, the right end is a pool house, yeah,” Sid said. “But, uh, the left end — the left three-quarters of it, really — is a banya.” 

“You build me … banya?” Geno asked, his face running through various expressions so quickly that Sid caught none of them.

“Um, yeah. Yes, we did,” Sid said, not quite sure if his house-warming gift was a hit. “If you don't like it, I'll have it removed. It's not a problem. I just thought, that one time on the phone, you sounded like you really missed having one here. But I get that it’s …”

“You have my key, yes?” Geno interrupted, the abruptness of his question startling Sid into quiet before he realized he needed to answer the question.

“To the banya?”

“My key to house,” Geno pushed. “You have my key to give to me?”

“Uh, sure,” Sid stammered, reaching into his pocket before holding out the key, a specialty key in the shape of a hammer, Sid’s CCM logo on the upper handle. A couple of normal spares joined the specialty key on a small house-shaped key ring, which also sported a CCM. “Here. The one key fits all of the locks on the house, though all of the locks also have keypads with PINs.”

“Thank you,” Geno said, his voice still a bit clipped as he took the keys from Sid and shoved them deep into his pocket.

“I'm, uh, sorry about the banya,” Sid said. He would have sworn Geno would like it, but he could think of no other reason for Geno’s abrupt mood shift. “I'll have it removed if you really don't like it.”

“Now I'm have key, I'm not client anymore, yes?” Geno asked.

“Uh, no, officially,” Sid said. “The key handover officially ends the job, well, aside from the warranty and our guarantee to make right anything you don’t like once you’re settled in. But if you really don't like the banya, I can take it away.”

“Don't you dare.”

“But if you hate it …”

“Don't hate, Sid. Love,” Geno said, his face transformed by a soft smile.

“But, you seemed like you wanted me and it gone,” Sid said. “You suddenly couldn’t wait to get your key.”

“I thought we clear up all confusion at Casbah, Sid,” Geno said. “I'm not want you gone then and I’m not want banya or you gone now.”

“Then why the rush for the key?” Sid asked.

“Because I really need to kiss you now, both to thank for best banya — ” 

“You haven’t even seen inside yet,” Sid started to protest, but Geno talked right over him.

“ — And because I'm want to kiss since we shook hands in your office at first meeting. But you say you not kiss clients. I spend past six weeks far away from you, so not tempt, keep talk about house. Not want to make uncomfortable. But … you build perfect house for me, you give me banya. Don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Oh,” Sid said. “Oh. Then, um, as someone who officially no longer works for you …”

“Can kiss you now?”

“Yes, please.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Sid let himself in the side door after work, entering through the mud room so he could take off his work boots, jeans and hoodie to limit the dirt he’s tracking into the house. That left him in his base-layer UnderArmour when he walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, babe,” he said, stepping around the work island and kissing Geno’s cheek as he got to where Geno was stirring some savory concoction in a skillet on the stove. “Smells great in here.”

“Hi,” Geno replied with a welcoming smile. “You early. Thought I’m have dinner in oven before you get here.”

“We reached a stopping point at work. But I can go, come back later,” Sid said, making sure to let one hand linger and drift across Geno’s bare forearm as he made a slight turn away.

“No,” Geno rushed to reply. “Not complaint, just say. You know I let you quit work and be kept man, stay home all the time, if you want.”

“A kept man, eh?” Sid grinned. “Think you have what it takes to keep me?”

“Be willing to find out,” Geno said, giving Sid a bit of a leer as he turned off the burner, grabbed the skillet and shifted his focus to the kitchen island behind him, where a casserole dish was waiting for the food. 

With one last kiss to Geno’s shoulder, Sid stepped back to give Geno room to work, returning to the other side of the island. He stood there for a moment before slowly backing out of the kitchen. As he did, Sid moved his hands to his waistband and slowly started tugging down his pants, revealing just a bit of skin over one hip bone as he continued backing.

He had Geno’s attention then, the skillet frozen mid-air in direct contrast to the heat in Geno’s gaze.

Once Sid was at the kitchen door and sure the distance between them would give him a bit of a head start, he quickly finished his strip tease, shoving at his leggings until he was naked from the waist down and the pants were in a pile at his feet.

Sid felt kind of ridiculous with his shirt _on_ and his pants _off_, but, yeah, it had Geno’s attention, so he wasn’t going to lose sleep over it — not unless Geno _wanted_ to keep him up all night.

Geno made a wounded/hungry/greedy noise as the skillet in his hand banged against the countertop and clattered into the casserole dish he was about to fill.

Sid took one more moment to lock eyes with Geno, to make sure Geno had a good view of what was on offer.

“Be careful, eh. Don’t hurt yourself. But … don’t take too long, either. I need someone to scrub my back,” he said, licking his upper lip and grinning before turning and sprinting from the room, Geno’s Russian curses echoing behind him.

Sid darted up the stairs, through the master bedroom and into the bathroom, stepping into the frankly massive shower and ducking into a back corner where Geno couldn’t easily spot him from the bathroom doorway. He hadn’t yet removed his shirt, but the key to hide-and-seek is at least the semblance of hiding.

It took about 30 seconds of waiting before Sid heard Geno on the stairs — Sid stifled a giggle as he imagined what dinner was going to look like when it came out of the oven, if it made it in — and a few more seconds before he heard Geno stop at the bathroom door. Sid instinctively held his breath and tucked even closer to the shower wall, his sense of competitiveness kicking in even as he reminded himself that Geno _finding_ him was the whole _point_ of the game.

After a moment’s pause, Sid heard Geno approach the shower. Then Geno was at the shower, its open-air design leaving no barrier between them. Sid had a split second to register the expression on Geno’s face and the fact that he was now wearing only boxer briefs before Geno had his hand on the faucet. He was about halfway through mentally congratulating himself on being out of the direct line of the spray when Geno reached up and tilted the shower head his direction.

Sid laughed as he ducked and turned to keep as much of the water as possible out of his face, bracing himself with feet spread and palms flat on the shower wall.

The water was warm from the start — that high-end water heater was totally worth spending Geno’s money on — and it was hitting Sid’s back, plastering his thin T-shirt to him like even more of a second skin than UnderAmour usually is. Geno’s breathing went sharp and Sid started to turn around to be sure Geno was OK.

“Freeze,” Geno rasped out. “No move.”

And, OK.

Sid froze, muscles tensing and his head ducked, the hair on the crown of his head brushing the tile in the corner of the shower. Even the front of his shirt was soaked by now, rivulets of water streaming from the hem and carving tiny rivers through the thatch of pubic hair surrounding his half-hard dick.

Sid breathed in, breathed out. It was quiet except for the sound of the water hitting the tiles, hitting him.

“G?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice.

He was about to straighten up and turn around regardless of Geno’s command — Geno’s silence was starting to worry him and standing even semi-clothed in the shower was just _weird_ — when Geno lightly pressed two fingers to his spine, right below his chain and above the neck band on his T-shirt.

Then Geno was between him and the shower head, his body blocking the water. Sid shuddered. He didn’t think it was because of the sudden lack of water keeping him warm.

Sid was about to say something, because Geno still hadn’t said anything and that was a bit worrying when …

“So beautiful, Sid,” Geno said softly, reverently. “Like … like fresh ice. Perfect. Could look for hours and not get tired.”

Sid felt his cheeks heat and his dick twitch at Geno’s words, though he hoped Geno was planning to do more than just look. Looking probably wasn’t going to get him off. Still, it _was_ Geno, and Sid had quickly learned in their relationship that everything about Geno pretty much did it for him, so he wasn’t going to bet against it.

“Fresh ice so pretty, I don’t want disturb,” Geno continued, beginning to sweep his fingers lightly across the knobby vertebrae at the base of Sid’s neck. “But also want to play, skate on it, leave my mark, feel it give under me.”

Sid swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Geno may have been talking about ice, but fuck if it wasn’t hot as hell.

“Ice,” Sid said, his voice raspy as he struggled for a coherent thought. “I … I like the patterns — the _marks_ — you leave when you skate.”

The _skate_ came out a bit breathier than Sid intended.

Geno groaned as he finally put both hands on Sid’s shoulders and squeezed, confirming for Sid that he hadn’t misunderstood Geno’s double meaning and Geno didn’t miss his.

“But skating mess up pretty,” Geno said, warm breath on Sid’s neck sending a trail of goose bumps down Sid’s torso. “Don’t want disturb beauty. Want to keep looking at it. Also absolutely want to _wreck_ it.”

And then it was Sid’s turn to gasp brokenly at Geno’s words, even more so as Geno splayed both hands across Sid’s shoulders and ran them down his back, around his rib cage, firm.

“You should,” Sid said, his voice barely above a whisper but louder echoing off the shower walls. “You should definitely wreck it.”

Geno closed the last gap of space between them. He bit at the base of Sid’s neck as he finally worked his hands under Sid’s T-shirt and up his abdomen until his long fingers were cupping Sid’s pectorals and stroking over the taut nubs near their center. There was no conscious thought to it as Sid pushed his chest forward into Geno’s palms and his ass back, seeking contact with muscled thighs.

Water had soaked through Geno’s boxer briefs, too, and Sid barely registered that there still was a layer of fabric between them as he nestled his ass into the curve of Geno’s thighs like they were built for each other, Geno’s dick hard against his crease. 

Sid nestled his ass into the curve of Geno’s thighs like they were built for each other, Geno’s dick slotting easily between Sid’s upper thighs, just below his ass.

With one more sucking kiss to the base of Sid’s neck, Geno lifted his head. 

“You taste like … sawdust,” he said. 

And that wasn’t really what Sid was expecting to hear, but he couldn’t deny it was probably true. 

He started to pull away with a mumbled “Sorry,” but Geno was having none of that, keeping one hand on Sid’s chest and lowering the other to his waist before tightening his grip so Sid couldn’t move.

“Didn’t say I’m didn’t like,” Geno grumbled, resting his chin on Sid’s shoulder, his mouth next to Sid’s ear. “Like imagine you at work, so strong, so much talent, work clothes not hide how perfect your body is, how is made for job you do. So hot.”

And Sid was used to seeing his body as functional more than attractive, but maybe it was a bit hot, because Sid definitely felt like he was melting in that moment. Still …

“I’m hot?” he asked incredulously, pushing back into Geno again, chasing both Geno’s dick and the groan it dragged from deep in Geno’s chest, a groan that Sid felt vibrate up his spine. “What about you? How do the Pens not just have a swimming pool instead of an ice rink when you’re out there?”

Geno snorted, amused, and nipped at Sid’s earlobe.

“I’m know,” Geno said, his voice smug in that way that should be unattractive — what kind of person _agrees_ that he’s hot?! — but so totally wasn’t. “That’s why so many assholes on other teams. Dubinsky’s ugly face refreeze ice when I’m melt it.”

Sid laughed despite himself and then sucked in a breath as the movement pushed Geno’s dick farther until it bumped up against his balls, the lightweight fabric of Geno’s briefs no match for the size and reach of his dick when Geno thrust his hips forward.

“I never really considered that this might need saying,” Sid said, making his voice go faux serious. “But new rule — no mentioning Dubinsky when we’re fucking. I don’t need that image in my head.”

“Oh, is that what we doing, fucking?” Geno teased, pushing his groin tighter against Sid’s ass. “I’m think you just need help scrub back, get dirt off.” 

“That, too,” Sid agreed. “But the dirt is No. 2 on my priorities list. No. 1 is seeing how quickly you can get your dick inside me and how long you can keep it there.”

“Is that challenge?” Geno asked, placing one last sucking kiss to Sid’s shoulder — the pressure right on the muscle made Sid’s knees weak and he was grateful his hands were still firm on the wall — before pulling back and reaching for the shampoo. 

Geno patted Sid’s ass with his free hand before plucking at his T-shirt. 

“Off,” he said. “Now.”

The loss of Geno’s heat along his back chilled Sid as air hit his wet T-shirt and soaked into his skin, so he scrambled to comply. Then he tilted his head back as Geno placed one shampoo-filled hand in his hair and started massaging bubbles into his scalp.

Geno was thorough in this, even as Sid knew he was hurrying. Hands in his hair soon traced downward, Geno’s soapy index fingers curling along the shell of Sid’s ears as his hands worked their way down his neck, across his shoulders, finding all of the curves and planes of Sid’s back before wrapping around to do the same to Sid’s chest.

Sid could feel his skin dance under Geno’s touch, a tingle of need making his muscles flex, his fingertips press more firmly against the wall in his bid to stay still.

Geno paused to get more shampoo before he continued down Sid’s body, skipping his midsection and going straight for his legs, one hand on each making quick work of the soaping process even as he kneaded at Sid’s thighs and calves along the way.

Sid focused on his breathing as Geno reached for one more squirt of shampoo. Sid could hear Geno rubbing his hands together to create some lather before he had them back on Sid, gliding over Sid’s ass, squeezing just a bit before slipping one hand between his cheeks and cleaning there, a finger giving an extra little rub to Sid’s hole as it slid by.

Sid swallowed hard and then coughed as his inhale got caught on a bit of saliva. Geno put one hand in the middle of his back and rubbed, soothing. Sid cleared his throat and nodded, assuring Geno he was OK.

Then Geno wrapped his other hand around Sid’s dick, two tugs soaping the now-solid length of him before Geno reached his hand back between Sid’s legs to cup his balls and massage the lather into Sid’s skin.

Geno pressed his pinky into that sensitive area behind Sid’s balls and Sid shuddered, clenching his jaw as he tried not to come. They were really just getting started and Geno wasn’t even in him yet. There’s no way he was coming already.

“No fair,” he said when he thought he was a bit more under control.

“I’m not know what you mean, Sid,” Geno said. “You ask me scrub back. I just wash you, get you clean. All innocent.”

“Innocent my ass,” Sid said. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Want I stop?” Geno asked, sliding his hand forward again as if to do just that. But Sid knew better, because Geno was very deliberate in the way he “accidentally” brushed Sid’s balls, his long fingers trailing up Sid’s dick in their supposed retreat.

“Don’t you dare,” Sid demanded, doing his best to sound commanding rather than just needy. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, but Geno complied — to a degree.

Geno flattened one hand against Sid’s abdomen and held him there, even as he pulled back, grabbed the hand-held shower head and used it to quickly rise the soap out of Sid’s hair and off of his skin.

He took extra care to be sure Sid’s ass was thoroughly rinsed, and the warm jet of water hitting Sid’s hole and along his perineum did nothing to cool him down. Despite his determination to be still, to let Geno do what he would to him, Sid knew his hips were pushing back, seeking contact even as Geno replaced the nozzle on its holder and shut off the water.

Sid clenched his jaw against the loss, willing a moan not to pass his lips. It instead got caught in his throat, rumbling there and vibrating through his chest. Then Geno was back, wrapping Sid in a big, fluffy towel and once more pressing against his back.

Geno bit at Sid’s neck and the moan Sid had been holding back escaped, long and loud in the fresh silence of the shower.

Geno had long ago proved how good he was with his hands, and Sid could attest that his skill translated off the ice as Geno quickly and efficiently dried Sid even as he continued to ravage Sid’s neck.

“Please, G.” Sid was not beyond begging at that point, his need simultaneously making his dick ridiculously hard and his knees ridiculously weak. His body has always had the strength needed to do his job, supporting him through erecting walls and shingling even the steepest of roofs. But Geno could reduce him to a puddle of melting goo in a matter of seconds, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to stay upright before his knees just gave up the fight.

“Please what, Sid?” Geno asked, his breath hot against Sid’s ear before he nipped at the space right behind it.

“Please,” Sid repeated. “Take me to bed. Or throw some towels on the floor. I’m not picky.”

“Do better than floor,” Geno said. “Hold on.”

It was quiet for a moment and then Sid heard a few dull plops and a squelch, the sound of something landing nearby. 

“Here,” Geno said. “Smart builder put bench in shower. Much better than floor. Not as far as bed.” 

Sid smiled as he turned around. Geno had finally stripped off his boxer briefs. He also had grabbed a few towels off the shelf right outside the shower and placed them on the wide bench that ran the length of one shower wall.

“I think the _builder_ thought it would be a good idea to have a bench in case you ever got hurt,” Sid said a bit drily. “So you could sit and still shower without risking further injury.” 

“See?” Geno asked with a mirroring grin. “Smart builder — one bench, many uses. Help me when I’m feel bad, help me make you feel very good.”

“You’ll have to be sure to thank him,” Sid said.

“I’m intend to,” Geno said against Sid’s lips. “Right now.”

Geno stepped backward until his knees hit the edge of the bench and he sat down on one of the spread towels, legs spread invitingly.

“Come here.” 

Sid didn’t need a second invitation before he took the few steps to close the gap and fit himself in between Geno’s thighs. Geno tipped his chin up as he extended his arms to bracket Sid’s waist with his hands and pull him in even more. Sid leaned down to kiss him, easily tangling the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of Geno’s head and reaching down with his other hand to stroke up the length of Geno’s dick.

God, how did Sid survive without this for so long, without the feeling of Geno’s hands on him, that look in his eyes that seemed exclusive to when he was looking at Sid? He wasn’t really sure, but he was glad he no longer had to.

When Geno withdrew a hand from Sid’s hip, Sid’s first instinct was to protest, but Geno patted his thigh, inviting Sid to sit, before reaching over to pull the bottle of lube from behind the conditioner and pop its cap.

Sid quickly decided he could live with that plan, visualizing how this was likely to go as easily as he could “see” a house on a lot long before it had a physical presence there. He moved to straddle Geno’s thighs. He wanted to keep his calves tight to Geno’s thighs, his knees snug against Geno’s hips. But that was physically impossible — they both had thigh muscles to spare — as Sid lowered himself farther on Geno’s lap.

It was all fine, though. Maybe his knees were brushing smooth stone and soft terrycloth instead of warm skin, but his dick now was aligned with Geno’s, the contact not yet constant but the intermittent friction leaving him gasping. The stretch in his quads and hamstrings as his thighs spread across the girth of Geno’s lap was as good as a massage after a long day at his latest construction site and he took a moment to consciously flex those muscles and simply appreciate the pleasant ache.

Then Geno’s now-slick fingers were between Sid’s glutes, the position ensuring him plenty of room to work, even considering Sid’s generous proportions. Sid moaned when one warm, slick finger pressed against his hole as the others squeezed at the firm muscle on either side.

“Fuck, G,” Sid said, the sensation making one-syllable words the best he could manage as he rocked down on Geno’s finger, felt it slide inside. 

Despite Sid’s best efforts, Geno kept his prodding shallow but, mercifully, soon added a second finger and then a third, leaving Sid with another stretch to appreciate.

“You ready?” Geno asked finally, wiggling his fingers so the tips brushed along nerve endings just inside his rim. “You want my dick or just fingers?”

“Not that your fingers aren’t nice and all,” Sid said before pausing for air as he tried again to push himself deeper on Geno’s fingers. “But I pretty much always want your dick.”

“Then take it,” Geno said, his voice low as he withdrew his fingers with a final, teasing stroke along Sid’s rim and wiped his hand on a towel edge.

Sid moved his hands to Geno’s shoulders and tightened his grip before raising himself up on his knees. He looked down as Geno grabbed his own dick, thick and hard, at its base and held it steady. Sid then lowered himself until he felt the head of Geno’s dick at his entrance and looked back up to watch Geno’s face as he pressed down, Geno’s dick entering him in a smooth glide as Sid sat back down on Geno’s lap. 

“God, Sid,” Geno said, his voice full of awe as he added something in Russian that Sid had no hope of translating in that moment. “Feel so good. So good. Builder make one small mistake, though.” 

“Seriously, that’s what you’re thinking right now? That your house has a flaw?” Sid groused with a swat at Geno’s shoulder. 

“Well,” Geno said, and Sid wasn’t sure how his tone managed to be both soothing and smug, but it did. “If shower had mirror, we could do and I could watch dick slide into you, see how good you look taking me while I feel how good.”

“Fuck,” Sid gasped, wiggling to encourage Geno deeper still. “OK, yeah. Point taken. But mirrors fog up. You wouldn’t be able to see anything for the steam anyway. And do you really want to see yourself in the mirror when you’re hung over and just trying to wash away a rough night?” 

“Fine,” Geno allowed, a bit grudgingly. “Fine. No mirrors in shower. He patted at Sid’s hip. “Up.”

Sid slowly raised himself on his knees again, stopping as he felt the head of Geno’s dick tug at his rim. He was about to start another slow slide down when Geno patted him again.

“Up, up,” he said. “All the way.” And then, for good measure, “off.”

“What if I don’t wanna?” Sid said cheekily, mostly for show — they’d been doing this long enough now that he trusted Geno to have a plan. He carefully straightened until his chest was in line with his thighs and his knees were at a 90-degree angle, pulling the rest of the way off of Geno’s dick in the process. Then he moved to stand, shaking out his knee joints as he waited.

He didn’t wait long.

“Knees OK?” Geno asked.

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Fine. Just getting the blood flowing again in my calves.”

“Turn around,” Geno said. “Come here.”

Sid did as he was told, turning around and taking a step back toward Geno before Geno pulled him in between his thighs and down toward his lap. Sid planted his palms on Geno’s thighs, right about his knees for balance and waited as Geno lined up and started to slide back into Sid.

But when Sid would have kept pushing back until he was fully seated on Geno’s lap — and his dick — Geno stopped him, hands on Sid’s ass as he spread Sid’s cheeks and slid his thumbs around the rim of Sid’s hole, tracing the curve where Sid’s body met Geno’s, pulling it in.

“Look so good, Sid,” Geno said, his voice low and staticky.

Sid twisted, not enough to dislodge Geno but so he could see Geno’s face. He wasn’t disappointed. Geno’s attention was rapt, his eyes focused on Sid’s ass and his own dick as he pushed Sid away, only to pull him back in.

“Love watching my dick disappear in you,” Geno said. “Love watching you stretch around me, take me so good.”

Sid moaned as Geno slid his dick deeper and dug his fingers into the meat of Sid’s ass. The noise caught Geno’s attention and he lifted his gaze to meet Sid’s eye.

“Fuck,” Sid said, risking his balance to move one hand to his own dick and squeeze. He was so hard, and the heat — the sheer awe — in Geno’s eyes would have been enough to tip him over if he wanted. Combined with the feel of Geno inside him, Sid was fighting back his orgasm. “Come on, G. Please.”

With that, Geno let out a groan of his own as he pulled Sid in fully, until he was firmly seated on Geno’s dick, one hand on his own and one hand digging into Geno’s thigh. Despite Sid’s short nails, he was pretty sure there’d be nail marks there later. He doubted Geno would mind.

Then Geno grabbed one of Sid’s legs behind the knee and lifted it until it was resting on Geno’s thigh. He repeated the move with Sid’s other leg until Sid was again straddling Geno. Geno’s lap was not small but Sid still felt a bit off-balance, taking his hand off of his dick to grab at Geno’s knee, which really didn’t help.

Geno must have sensed that Sid was feeling off-kilter.

“Hands,” Geno said. “Wrap around my neck.”

Sid did as instructed, raising his arms and locking his hands around the back of Geno’s neck. And, yeah, that was … good. That was really good. Sid no longer felt as if he was going to slide into the floor at any minute. Better yet, the position stretched and lengthened his torso and pushed his hips that little bit more into Geno’s groin. 

“G, please,” he said.

Geno still had his hands under Sid’s thighs and, once he was sure Sid was holding tight to his neck, he lifted until Sid no longer had any leverage save for his grip on Geno’s neck. Sid was not a small guy, and the ease with which Geno manhandled his body was hot as hell. Not to mention the intensity of being absolutely impaled on Geno’s dick, without Sid’s thighs or back to take any of his weight as Geno lifted him and then thrust up as he let gravity drive Sid down again.

Sid wanted so badly to get his hand on his dick. It wouldn’t take much to push him over at this point. But he was so hard now that it was starting to ache.

“God, touch me, please,” Sid said. “Fuck.” 

“Anything for you, _kroshka_,” Geno said, lowering Sid’s thighs once more and sliding his hands slowly up Sid’s body.

Geno wrapped one solid arm across Sid’s chest, his hand splayed across Sid’s throat, not choking but firm, his thumb nudging Sid’s face to turn until their lips met.

Then Geno spread his thighs wide again, pushing Sid’s own further apart. A shiver rippled through Sid’s body as air wafted across his balls and Geno wrapped his free hand around Sid’s dick. Sid could feel his balls tightening and knew he was going to come at any moment.

He opened his mouth wider as Geno practically devoured him. Sid was as exposed to Geno as he could be and he could think of nothing he wanted more. He moaned into the kiss in warning as Geno twisted his hand up the shaft of Sid’s dick and that was it.

Sid came hard, shuddering as he spurted over Geno’s hand and onto the shower floor. His orgasm set off a chain reaction, his ass squeezing around Geno’s dick until, with one last, hard thrust, Geno was coming in him, warm and wet and gratifying.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Should we worry about dinner?” Sid asked, sounding about the farthest thing from worried in his post-orgasmic haze.

“Be fine,” Geno responded, pressing his back more firmly to Sid’s chest within the circle of Sid’s arms. After a moment to catch his breath following their mutual orgasms, Sid had climbed off of Geno’s lap and angled himself into the corner of the shower, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched along the back edge of the bench along the shower wall. Geno had shifted to settle between Sid’s thighs. “I set timer so oven turn off when done. Keep food warm, but not burn down house.” 

“Good,” Sid said, dipping his chin just enough to press a soft kiss to the damp crown of Geno’s head. “I really don’t want to move yet — it feels so good lying here with you like this — but I’d hate to have to explain to the guys why we’re rebuilding your kitchen.”

“Don’t want say kitchen burn down because my dick best?” Geno asked, the grin evident in his voice. “Just say what is true, yes?”

“It may be true but that doesn’t mean I want to deal with the fallout,” Sid said with an easy laugh. “I’d never hear the end of that teasing. It’s not like they don’t have plenty of ammunition already, between you being a hockey player and a former client. The other day Flower actually flubbed a joke because he forgot whether he was going for a hockey stick reference or a lumber reference.”

“You build houses for long time,” Geno said. “They not run out of wood jokes after first couple houses?” 

“Well, I’ve never dated a client before. And, apparently, guys never run out of wood jokes,” Sid huffed. “They’re doubling down now because they know this house is easily my favorite build to date. They can’t decide if I’m after you for your dick or your house.”

“You like house that much?” Geno asked. “I mean, I’m love. Is just what I want. But you could have any house, build your own, and you like this one best?”

“I do,” Sid said, absently stroking a finger along the line of Geno’s clavicle. “I probably wouldn’t have made it quite so big, even if my team has enough people to fill out an NHL roster. And I maybe wouldn’t have chosen the statues you picked to guard the gate. But it’s a great house.”

“It could be yours,” Geno said.

“What?” Sid said. “Are you tired of it already?” 

“No,” Geno said. “Would be mine, too. Move in with me. You here lots anyway. Make it official.” 

“Geno,” Sid said, struggling a bit against Geno’s weight to sit up as the direction of the conversation finally cut through his relaxed state. “You don’t have to say that. I wasn’t angling for anything. And, for the record, as much as I like this house, I’m not dating you for your house. I’d still want to be with you, even if you lived in a fourth-floor walk-up studio apartment in Philly.”

“I’m know, Sid,” Geno said, finally sitting up himself and turning around on the shower bench to face Sid, to curl his fingers around Sid’s and meet his gaze. “I’m not think you only after my house. Already said, you could build any house you want. Don’t need mine. But, as amazing as this house is, have you here is what makes it home.”

“Geno — ” Sid started.

“I’m want you here all the time,” Geno continued. “Like knowing you still in my bed, our bed, even when I’m on road trip, maybe skating when I’m skate, even if in different city. For now, I’m know we only date for few months, but they best months.”

“You’re sure?” Sid asked. “I mean, I feel the same way. These past few months have been the best. And whenever I’m not here, with you, I want to be. But I don’t want you to think you have to ask me to move in. Things have been great so far. Really. I don’t need it to change.”

“Sid,” Geno said, letting go of Sid’s hands to cup his face, tracing a thumb along Sid’s cheekbone. “I’m love you. Have for while now. One day intend to marry you. But is early. Figure you say no if ask this soon. So ask next best thing. Move in with me, please.”

“I love you, too,” Sid said softly, reverently, before a self-deprecating giggle broke through and he grinned. “I can’t believe I’m saying that to you for the first time in the shower. But I do, I love you. So much. I would be honored to move in with you.”

Sid leaned in then, pressing his lips to Geno’s and sliding his tongue along the seam until Geno ceded, opening his mouth so Sid could deepen the kiss. Sid had intended the kiss to reiterate his declaration of love, his desire to live with Geno, to _be_ with Geno. And it was all of those things.

But it also quickly turned heated with renewed desire, the extent of which would have been embarrassing considering how thoroughly Geno had just fucked Sid — if it weren’t clear that Geno was just interested in a second round.

Sid reluctantly broke the kiss with a groan that mirrored Geno’s as he let his forehead fall to Geno’s shoulder.

“We should stop,” Sid said, pecking a quick kiss to Geno’s shoulder before raising his head. “We have dinner waiting.”

“Can always make sandwiches later,” Geno said.

“Come on,” Sid said, patting Geno’s thigh and resisting the urge to stroke Geno’s dick just because it was in proximity as he stood. “We’ll go get some dinner, build up our strength and then come back up to bed. Tomorrow’s an off-day, right?”

“Yes,” Geno said, taking Sid’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. “No practice, can do cardio here.”

“Then I call dibs on you for dessert,” Sid grinned, using one of the now-rumpled towels from the bench to take a quick swipe at cleaning himself up before grabbing a pair of shorts off of the towel shelf and pulling them on. “Eat you out and then fill you back up, fuck you just as thoroughly as you just fucked me.”

“Sid,” Geno moaned. “Why you say things like that as you put clothes _on_? Gonna kill me. Gonna die before we can get casserole out of oven.”

“Don’t do that,” Sid said, his grin taunting Geno. “I need you around for a while.”

“Why’s that?” Geno asked, twining his fingers with Sid’s and pressing into his space.

“We christened every room in the place after we started dating, eh,” Sid said. “If I’m moving in, making it official, I think we need to do it again, re-christen every room,” Sid said. “And a very wise client insisted that his house have _lots_ of rooms.”

“Very wise client,” Geno agreed. “Yes, let’s go eat. Get start on christen. If run out of rooms, maybe can ask builder for addition.”

“Anytime, G,” Sid said. “You know, I said this house is my favorite build to date, both because of the house and because it’s how I met you. But I think my favorite build of all time is going to be the life I build with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I absolutely love it when [Vex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashEdit/pseuds/PreciselyVex) shares tidbits at a fic's end ...
> 
> I loosely based my thoughts on Geno’s home on the Pens’ practice facility in Cranberry, even as I made it the “old rink” and moved it to Sewickley. Without detailing too much in the story, I loosely based my ideas about how the space — not so much the interior design but the actual space — would look after the remodel/renovation on [this house](https://www.houzz.com/photos/airport-house-denver-contemporary-residence-contemporary-kitchen-denver-phvw-vp~2922140).
> 
> [The tub.](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.diamondspas.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2013%2F03%2Fwebsite-Copper-dark-patina-tub.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.diamondspas.com%2Fkitchen-bath-collection%2Fcustom-baths%2Frectangular-baths%2F&docid=beeDcwRrcmOZnM&tbnid=ZfSRUnIbVq3REM%3A&vet=10ahUKEwihhtDjn7DkAhWyTd8KHRslBCwQMwhOKAAwAA..i&w=1000&h=724&bih=969&biw=1920&q=copper%20bathtub&ved=0ahUKEwihhtDjn7DkAhWyTd8KHRslBCwQMwhOKAAwAA&iact=mrc&uact=8) (Specifically the tub, not necessarily the rough-hewn stone.)
> 
> [The key.](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41F1ZdpDJFL._AC_.jpg)
> 
> And [a very inspiring, somewhat-unsafe-for-work pic](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tbLMZq0Cgh4Xxyc91x7o6LyfGXoJD22qe54X7Dfyh2I/edit?usp=sharing).


End file.
